


Devastation

by Meilan_Firaga



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18786019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga
Summary: Perhaps calling the Council had been a mistake. The more Wesley thinks about it, the more he's ashamed of how he's treated his charge. He might not be cut out for this.





	Devastation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltyavocado](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyavocado/gifts).



He was right to call the Council. Faith had murdered a human. She’d lied about it to—well, not a Watcher anymore, but he supposed Giles still had to count as some part of the team. She was a loose cannon. Protocol was very clear on the steps he was meant to take, so he had taken them. Turning her in to face judgement was the right thing to do. 

Why, then, did the accusing look she’d aimed at him feel so bloody awful? Why was he the one left standing alone in the library with his face smarting? Why did he feel so mortified?

Why did he find himself standing in the car park of a seedy motel staring at the door to room number three?

Wesley was not recruited to the Watcher’s Council for his extraneous skills. He’d not had a ‘bad boy’ phase that got him on someone’s radar. He’d come to it through bloodline and study. That did not, however, mean that he was without any extra skills to speak of. He was rusty with the lock picks, having only ever used them on practice locks in a controlled setting, but eventually the tumblers in the lock clicked and he slipped into her room. It wasn’t as messy as he expected for a teenage girl. There was an almost military neatness to the way the bed was made, but judging by the establishment it wasn’t the maid service that had done it. The pillows and padding duct taped to the wall as a poor man’s training dummy and the haphazard collection of cassettes on top of the dresser were sloppy, but outside of the place’s general construction everything else was as neat as a pin. It reminded him somewhat uncomfortably of the tight corners and dust-free surfaces of his own rooms.

He didn’t want to invade her privacy more than was absolutely necessary, but time, of course, was not on their side. He tried to give most of it no more than a perfunctory glance. Every drawer boasted hidden weapons beneath the clothing. There were more weapons hidden under the bed, in the night stand, and behind a loose tile in the shower. He shook out a large, empty duffle bag and gathered it all together, weapons on the bottom and her  _ interesting  _ choices of clothing on top. He tried not to blush while he scooped lacy underthings into the bag. Since when were women at her age so prolific with their lingerie shopping? He tried not to think about it. With everything stowed he dragged a chair over to the wall across from the door, turned out the lights, and settled in.

She did not come back quickly. For several hours he sat in the dark, turning the events since he’d come to Sunnydale over and over in his mind. Things weren’t like he’d been told they would be. The partnership, if it could even be called that, between Watcher and Slayer was not what he imagined. He found himself forced to re-evaluate. When she did return, Faith came in through the bathroom window as silent as a cat. Wesley was dragged from his thoughts when she pressed a knife to his throat.

“You’re not exactly great at the sneaking there, Wes,” she quipped. The edge of the blade bit just slightly. A drop of blood welled up and crept slowly toward his collarbone.

He swallowed, very aware of the way his adam’s apple pressed against the knife when he did. “I’m glad to see that your instincts are so well-honed.” She scraped the knife over a bit of the day’s stubble. The shave was closer than any he’d ever been given with a straight razor. “I am not here to arrest you again.”

The knife abruptly left his person. Faith sauntered around his chair and sprawled across the bed, flicking a light on as she went. “After last time I’d think you’d at least be smart enough to bring more guys for that.” She glanced around the room, frowning at how bare her surroundings were. The same dangerous glint that had lit her eyes in the back of the Council’s transport appeared again when she fixed her gaze on him. “Where the hell is all my stuff?”

“In this bag.” Wesley nudged the bag beneath the chair with his foot. “Everything but your boom box, at least. I thought we could carry that separately.”

“Not sure who this we is you’re talking about. I thought I made it pretty clear I wasn’t hopping the pond for whatever trial the Council has planned.”

“Who said anything about the Council?” He’d never seen her look shocked before. Wide eyes, mouth slightly open—it sent another twinge of guilt straight to his stomach. When was the last time someone had actually looked out for her best interest?

She recovered quickly, though, scoffing at him. “What? You expect me to believe that the Council’s boy scout is suddenly turning rogue? Fat chance.” Instead of offering a response, Wesley kept his mouth shut. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and leaned forward, dropping into an uncharacteristic slouch that had always driven his father crazy. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

He took off his glasses. Took a deep, steadying breath. Finally voiced some of what he’d been thinking. “I am neither wanted nor needed here. I have failed—quite spectacularly, I might add—at the task I was assigned by the Council.” He fixed his gaze on her, refusing to squint in order to solidify her blurry outline in his vision without the aid of his glasses. “Furthermore, I’m no longer sure I believe that my employers have the right of it when it comes to this fight. What Buffy has with Mr. Giles is a singular type of relationship that transcends rules and protocol, but the results? Now that I’ve seen them firsthand I’m not entirely sure they can be argued with.”

Faith’s jaw clenched. “Losing my interest with the sad British introspection, Wes. Get to the point.”

“Stop trying to cover up your own inner turmoil by belittling the emotional crises of others,” Wesley snapped, placing his glasses back on his nose. He continued before she could speak. “I’ve fucked up.” The violent swear silenced any protest she might have had. “Royally so, and so have you. You have nothing and no one. Neither do I. I can accept that I have failed as a Watcher, but I am less comfortable with the realization that I have failed as a compassionate human being.” Frustrated, he dragged a hand through his hair. “I am trying to make it right.”

There was silence between them for a long time— much longer than he expected her to go without some moody comment. When his eyes finally found their way back to her she was staring at a spot on the floor, a searching expression on her face. For a moment he thought that if he looked hard enough he might see the faint sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. Finally, she shook herself and came back to the present.

“So you’re proposing what exactly?” Her voice was flat. “We run away together and leave this monster-hunting life behind us? Happily ever after in a country without extradition treaties?”

“As though either one of us could neglect our callings? Most certainly not.” He stood. Stretched. Shrugged off his suit jacket. “There is another Hellmouth in Cleveland.” Once again, he cut off Faith’s protest before she could voice it. “Continuing to fight the war for the night would honestly be the last thing the Watcher’s Council would expect you to do. I also have certain—well, they’re not so much contacts as research subjects, but all the same with the proper motivation I think they could be convinced to provide a particular brand of magical cloaking and protections to help hide us from prying eyes while we sort things out and get to work.”

He needn’t have worried that she might not understand what he meant by ‘proper motivation.’ The words lit something behind her eyes that he hadn’t seen in all the time he’d known her. “Proper motivation, huh?” Her smirk was nothing short of diabolical. His heart jumped. Jailbait or not, there were moments when she was quite devastating. “If I didn’t know any better, Wes, I’d say you were suggesting we strongarm some folks into doing what we want.”

It would be well over a year before Faith would admit it to him, but the smile he gave her in response was devastating all on its own.


End file.
